


i wanna be bold (with you)

by lxghtwoodlxve



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles, Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: 4 + 1, Alternate Universe - Federal Agents, Alternate Universe - NCIS, Angst, BAMF Jiya, BAMF Lucy Preston, Character Near-Death, Fluff, Good Person Jessica Logan, Good Person Wyatt Logan, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Relationship-centric, Secret Relationship, Survivor’s Guilt, Timeless Season 3 References, Undercover, Undercover as couple, background jamy you’re welcome, christmas fic? in my september? more likely than you think, genuinely terrible pranks, gunshot wound, proposal, rated mature just in case, sniper!lucy, yeah you heard me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-09 20:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20516030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lxghtwoodlxve/pseuds/lxghtwoodlxve
Summary: For NCIS Special Agents, Wyatt Logan and Garcia Flynn aren't as good at keeping secrets as they think they are.Or, four times that Wyatt blew their cover, and the one time he didn't need to.





	i wanna be bold (with you)

**Author's Note:**

> hello! i hope you're all well.  
crime drama is one of my particular special interests, so this is loooooong overdue.   
please take care of yourself - the third section, entitled '2013: Denise', is heavy angst, with a lovely side of dissociation, survivor's guilt, and PTSD, as well as physical wounds. if you need to skip that section, please do. your mental health is far more important than my fic.  
aside from that, i hope you enjoy. as always, i'm open to criticism and i adore comments.  
a tremendous thank you to SugarsweetRomantic for beta'ing!  
stay safe my darlings,  
\- t <3

**2010: Jess**

Now, Wyatt wasn’t the kind of guy to judge his co-workers. Really, he wasn’t. He’d bounced around within the Army - grunt, Army cop, Delta Force, Black Ops - and then joined the LAPD with little pause in between. He was used to all sorts of weird coping mechanisms and habits and quirks.

But ever since he’d been assigned to the NCIS Office of Special Projects as an ‘LAPD liaison’ - whatever the Hell that even meant - it was becoming increasingly likely that he was, in fact, going to  _ throttle _ said coworkers.

Flynn waltzed into the bullpen ten minutes late, holding three paper bags stuffed to the brim with… stuff. And handed one to Lucy.

“Uh, what?” She mumbled, and Wyatt meets her confused gaze with one of his own, as the next bag is dropped in front of Jess. 

“There was an earthquake? Last night?” Flynn put the final bag down in front of Wyatt, and they frowned at each other. “What, you didn’t feel it?”

Wyatt laughed a little. “C’mon, I grew up in Texas. We don’t wake up for anything less than the apocalypse.”

“Wyatt, I think you’re just a heavy sleeper.” Lucy quipped, her head buried in the bag Flynn gave her. 

“That’s exactly it! People here are so blase about disasters. You all need to be better prepared for these things.”

Lucy’s hum of approval is masked by Jess’ snort, the contents of her own bag laid in front of her. “Iodine tablets, solar-powered flashlight, beef jerky, and oh! An awesome KA-BAR.”

While Jess is admiring her knife, Lucy can’t help laughing at her own gifts. “A medical kit, Flynn, really? Army rations, a ham radio… and, yep. That’s a KA-BAR.”

“You can never have enough knives.” Flynn leaned against a stone column, preening.

“Then why do I have popcorn, a DVD of The Little Mermaid, and a slanket?” Wyatt grumbled, holding up the bright pink furry blanket. It unfurled, and out fell a can of Red Bull. He sighed. “Really? I fall asleep at movie night  _ one time _ , and this is what I get?”

Jess smirked at them. Flynn winked playfully at her, still triumphant as he crossed behind Wyatt to whisper a  _ “you’re welcome”  _ in his ear.

A whistle pierces the air, and they all look up to where Rufus is leaning over the banister. “C’mon guys, we caught a case. Hey, sweet KA-BAR, Luce.”

Flynn’s grin could have melted even Assistant Director Christopher’s heart. 

\--

“We’ve got a juicy one today.” Jiya announced once everyone had entered into the Operations Centre. 

“As disturbing as that statement is, she’s right. This is Chief Petty Officer Robert Lincoln.” Rufus tapped on his keyboard a few times, and a military ID flashed up on the big screen that dominated the north wall of the room. “He’s a liaison with a company called BioTech Inc. They manufacture antidotes and vaccines for bioweapons.”

“Let me guess…”

“No need. He was attacked and killed last night at his house in Westlake Village.”

Jess frowned. “Do they suspect a leak?”

“They do.” He tapped a few more times to throw up a grainy video onto the screen. “There weren’t any witnesses, but we did get this CCTV footage from the crime scene.”

He clicked to press play, and they all fell silent at the footage. A grainy, hooded figure picked the lock, entering the house, and three minutes later a bloodied Petty Officer Lincoln trying to escape out the back door only to have his throat slit in full view of the street. 

“Did you get a hit on the attacker?” Wyatt asked.

“Yeah, but it wasn’t easy. I did find several aliases, including but not limited to John Wilkes, John Boothe, Wilson Booth, and Big Daddy Boothe. Eventually, I found the real him - he’s called James Wilson.” Rufus replied, throwing up fake IDs onto the already cluttered screen. 

Jiya’s face had settled into a grim sort of smile. “His last known address is now a TJ Maxx, but it is on record that he used to work at a spa. I’ve sent the addresses to your phones.”

“Okay, we’ll will go check out the spa. Flynn, Wyatt, you guys check out the crime scene?” Lucy asked, but it was clear that it wasn’t a question. They both nodded. 

\--

_ “Hey, Logan. Sit-rep?”  _

“Nothing really on the crime scene. Wilson left fingerprints, I’ve sent them to Rufus and Jiya for confirmation. No other CCTV footage either, but one of the neighbors confirmed that they saw someone matching Wilson’s description loitering the other day.”

_ “Nice. Lucy managed to sweet-talk the receptionist into giving us Wilson’s last known address. I’ve sent you two loverboys the info.” _

“Thanks. Wait, what?”

_ “Don’t pretend, Wyatt. You’re good undercover but you’re not that good.” _

“...I’ll let you know if we find anything, Jess.”

_ “Ha!” _

\--

God, Wyatt hated stakeouts. 

This James Wilson guy was apparently holed up in a small apartment complex in Long Beach. They’d searched the house, they’d reported in to Ops, and their orders were to watch and wait. Being Christmas Eve, it was a quiet night, and they’d ended up taking turns napping while the other watched. 

“Good morning,  _ Schnecke _ .” Flynn quipped as Wyatt woke up, groaning at the time on the dashboard. Flynn still had the camera out, taking occasional photos of Wilson’s neighbors. 

“G’morning, despised enemy.” He replied, stretching as much as he could in the cramped space. “Why are you waking me up at five in the morning?”

“That’s when we agreed to get you up. We’re on a stakeout, remember?” Flynn frowned. “I also want coffee, and I can’t leave while you’re asleep.”

“Okay, go on, I’ll keep watch. Get me one too, will ya?”

Flynn opened the door, grumbling about ‘spoilt brats’. Wyatt huffed out a laugh, and grabbed the camera from Flynn’s side of the dashboard. 

\--

“Jessica. Do you have any good news?”

_ “If I did, I’d have called you.” _

“Likewise. It’s dead.”

_ “Where’s our lovely liaison? Still asleep?” _

“Nah, I woke him up. I’m getting coffee.”

_ “He likes hazelnut and whipped cream. Just so you know.” _

“Huh. Thanks, Jess.”

\--

Flynn lowered himself back into the car, clutching a bag and two coffees. Wyatt’s mouth immediately started watering at the smell.

“You’re gonna tell me that you got yourself two coffees now, aren’t you? Destroy my stakeout dreams?”

Instead, Flynn simply handed him the paper bag. Wyatt opened it with zeal.

“Red Bull? Again?” Flynn was clearly holding in laughter, and Wyatt groaned, throwing his head back. “Seriously? What is wrong with  _ all  _ of you, why do I even bother… Might as well just go back to the LAPD…”

“Shut up, Logan, you love us too much. Drink your poison.”

Wyatt couldn’t help but grin a little as Flynn grabbed his free hand and pressed a hot cup of coffee into it. He immediately took a sip, and his eyes widened. 

Flynn had already started shoveling his festive holiday donut monstrosity into his mouth, but when he saw Wyatt hiding his full, boyish grin by taking another, longer sip, he had to hide his own in response.

\--

“Another case closed. Good job everyone.” Lucy announced, grabbing her messenger bag. 

“Yes, a nice job indeed.” Connor rounded the corner looking satisfied. “Go home everyone, get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

They all chorused goodbyes, heading out in pairs until it was just Wyatt and Flynn sat finishing the initial reports. (Jess’ wink was burned into Wyatt’s retinas.) He looked at the clock on his desk - the number 21:06 was blinking aggressively at him, and he had to stifle a yawn. 

He grabbed his messenger bag, stuffing both the Red Bulls in before Flynn could notice, and stood up. “Hey, are you coming? You want a ride?” 

Flynn looked up from his paperwork, and squinted at him. “You realise what that could also mean, right?”

“Shut up. You want me to drive you home or not?” Wyatt couldn’t help but notice the way Flynn’s tongue flicked out to wet his bottom lip. 

“Yeah, sure. Let’s go.” Flynn stood up. “Coffee and takeout?”

Wyatt flushed a little. “Sounds great.”

**2011: Lucy**

Flynn never thought he’d ever see Wyatt in anything other than a t-shirt and jeans, but he was really beginning to be shocked at the sheer audacity that Lucy and Mason had. 

Seriously. A soft grey tailored suit? With a pastel pink shirt underneath? Were they trying to kill him?

Apparently so, because according to Mason, “this is what art people wear, Flynn”. 

“I don’t even know anything about art, Luce.” Wyatt almost pleaded with Lucy as she was fixing his pocket square. “Why me?”

“Because we’re trying to bust an art smuggling ring that’s becoming a mule for government secrets, and Jess needs backup. Flynn’s too intimidating to be arm candy. No offence, Flynn.” Jiya said, eyes glued to her tablet. 

“That’s actually the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Flynn replied.

Jess snorted from behind the curtain. “And you’re not there to actually buy a painting, you’re there to look pretty and get intel. Leave the cover story to me. I have a plan.”

Wyatt grumbled, but relented. And then Jess stepped out - her long blonde hair was tied back in a delicate braided updo and she was busy fiddling with her pink cocktail dress. It was completely at odds with the furious look on her face. 

“Mason,” she said. Her glare could have killed all of them. “It’s pink.”

\--

In the end, Jess, despite vehemently rejecting the ‘pink monstrosity’, had been forced to wear it. They all still marveled at Jiya’s ability to blackmail her own teammates.

(Flynn thought they looked great.)

He was on overwatch, sat in a catering van outside the gallery, ready in his tactical gear. Lucy on the opposite roof with her sniper rifle, Jiya was beside him monitoring the facial recognition system, and Rufus and Denise were supervising in Ops. 

_ “This reminds me of a, uh, an Edward Hopper painting. Nighthawks, I think he called it?”  _ Wyatt was saying, and Flynn huffed out a laugh. 

_ “Oh absolutely.”  _ Michael Temple’s voice was unmistakable. 

“Doesn’t know anything about art, my ass.” Jiya mumbled, her eyes glued to the screen. Flynn grunted in agreement.

_ “That’s exactly what I was thinking, Wyatt!”  _ Jess responded.  _ “This would look great if we could get it across the border.” _

_ “Across the border?”  _ Flynn could practically hear Temple drooling. 

_ “Well, my cousin here, his husband is planning on opening a gallery, they live in Mexico. He’s sick, so he couldn’t make the trip. I’m on vacation from NYC this week, and Wyatt just begged me to come instead.”  _ Flynn’s eyes couldn’t help but widen, and Jiya openly started laughing. He could hear Lucy chuckling too.

He was going to  _ murder  _ that woman. 

_ “Yeah, Jess is one of the best curators I know. Couldn’t be here without her.” _

_ “Oh, you must see my gallery. I’m doing a festive fundraiser next week, actually, and I’d love to have some input from someone as qualified as you.”  _ Temple continued. 

_ “Oh, Garcia should be up by then! I go back home tomorrow, but who says that you and your better half can’t go instead?”  _ Jess’ voice was relaxed, slurring a little like she was drunk, and once again Flynn was just astounded. 

He was going to kill her.

\--

_ “Remember, you’re husbands. You’re supposed to be in love.” _

“Jessica Moore, you’re a dead woman.”

Jess just chuckled, low and deadly. Wyatt rolled his eyes, and stood even closer to Flynn. “She just said it so that she doesn’t have to wear another dress.”

_ “We can hear you, Wyatt.”  _

They all laughed a little, the tension easing slightly. Wyatt could still feel the anticipation, clenched in his stomach, and Flynn’s arm around his waist wasn’t helping much. 

Another fancy art show, but this time they’d had to go as Wyatt and Flynn Jimenez, thanks to Jess. Who was very happily stuck in overwatch in her jeans and sweater. And not stood next to Flynn in a suit and tie. 

_ Flynn in a suit and tie holy shit. _

Lucy and Jiya had dressed them again, of course - Wyatt in a navy two-piece and grey shirt, Flynn in a black three-piece and a burgundy floral tie - and they’d been told firmly, as she jammed their pocket squares into place, to  _ act natural. _

“They must think we’re unprofessional or something,” Flynn whispered in his ear, and Wyatt jumped a little. 

“What? No way,” Wyatt’s voice was breathier than he wanted. Shit. He leaned in closer. “C’mon, aren’t we supposed to be flirting? Looking at the paintings?”

Flynn squinted at him, and it was like Wyatt could read his mind.  _ We are flirting, you moron _ . Their faces were almost touching. 

“Wyatt Jimenez?”

They almost jumped apart, and Wyatt had to force himself not to blush. “Michael Temple. I was beginning to wonder if you’d turn up.”

“Well, promises aren’t made to be broken, are they?” A slimy, disdainful sort of smile crossed Temple’s face before he turned to Flynn. “This must be your husband.”

Flynn shook Temple’s hand, grinning affably. His chosen Mexican accent tilted his words into a huskier sound, and Wyatt felt his whole body responding. Jesus. “Garcia Jimenez, it is nice to meet you.”

“You’re a curator?”

“I am. We’re looking for some smaller pieces, independent artists, that sort of thing.” Flynn’s grin turned sharklike as they spoke. “I’ve been told you can help with that.”

“Absolutely. Although,” Temple tapped his glass a few times. Wyatt’s eyes tracked the motion. “I’ve never heard of a Garcia Jimenez working around Los Angeles.”

“I’m from Mexico.”

“Indeed. How do you propose to transport the pieces?”

“I have an excellent team, but they, ah… aren’t available.” Flynn’s smile remained calm, but his eyes hardened. 

Temple chuckled. “Ah, so you’re criminals. What a shame.”

“Takes one to know one, Mr Temple.” Wyatt couldn’t help it - the words came out, slightly bitter, and his comms filled with quiet gasps from the entire team. 

_ “Wyatt, what the Hell is wrong with you?”  _ Jess hissed. 

“Excuse me?” Temple’s eyebrows rose, but Wyatt held his ground. “That is a disgusting accusation.”

Flynn’s hand came to rest at the small of Wyatt’s back, just above his gun. “My husband knows what he’s talking about. I don’t appreciate your tone.”

“And I don’t appreciate the two of you spreading such gossip.” Temple tapped his glass a few times as he spoke, and then made to walk away.

“Oh, but we were planning to make a deal with you, Mr Temple. We’re very familiar with your methods, your work.” Flynn leaned in closer to Temple, but his hand didn’t move from Wyatt’s back. He had to fight to stay focused. “You’ve made quite an impression.”

Temple’s eyebrows rose further, and Wyatt held his breath. This was make or break. 

“And what work of mine are you a fan of, Mr Jimenez?” 

“I enjoy the Mexico City job. You’re quite popular in my circles, you know.” Temple’s mouth twitched slightly, as if he was attempting to smile. Wyatt didn’t think Temple had actually smiled properly in his entire life. 

“I am, aren’t I?”

“It is true that your reputation precedes you, but that’s precisely what we need. It’s a few paintings, maybe a sculpture or two. I’m sure you’ve handled hotter goods.”

Temple smiled, slow and indulgent, and they finally got down to business.

His chest loosened, and he zoned out a little. He knew his face was doing what it should, and it wasn’t going to blow their cover if Wyatt stared lovingly at Flynn for ten minutes. 

“ _ Wyatt, go to the bar.”  _ Lucy ordered.

“Garcia, I’m going to get another drink. Would you like one?” He fixed a soft smile onto his face, and Flynn’s hand moved, gently rubbing his shoulder.

“Thank you,  _ querido _ . I’d love one.” Flynn bent down -  _ oh holy shit he’s tall, why is he so tall -  _ and kissed him on the cheek, sweet and chaste. Wyatt moved away, taking Flynn’s glass, and made his way to the bar, not even bothering to hide his blush. He had to remember how to breathe. He was still listening in, of course, but most of his conscious thought was focused on the feeling of Flynn’s lips, how large Flynn’s hand felt when it was on his waist…

_ “Wyatt? You good?”  _ Lucy asked over the comms, and he let out a hysterical little laugh in response. An attractive redhead bumped into him, her emerald silk dress brushing against his skin as she reached into her purse, and he jumped. He’d almost lost it for a second there, but Flynn was still sweet-talking Temple, and they’d secured the meet. Everything was going to plan. 

They met back up. Wyatt handed Flynn his drink, still in a daze, and Flynn just chuckled, taking a long sip. 

Wyatt tried to pretend that everything was normal. 

\--

It turns out that Wyatt was really, really bad at pretending that everything was normal.

Lucy cornered him. “What the  _ hell  _ is with you?”

“What?” Wyatt blinked, and she gave him a scathing look. The silence stretched out, and literally ten seconds later, a look of excited realisation flashed across Lucy’s face

“Oh my God. You and Flynn! You’re-”

“Luce!” Wyatt hissed. 

She grinned at him, and landed a light punch directly over his bruised bicep. “Ha! Okay. That’s fine. Does he...?”

“I don’t know! It’s not like I’m going to  _ ask _ .”

“You’d better, Wyatt Logan. Don’t let that man go to waste. God, I’d climb him like a tree if I could.”

“Ow, Luce. Sure. Thanks.” Wyatt mumbled, rubbing his arm ruefully.  _ _

Oh, they were so screwed. 

**2013: Denise**

One of the only times a year that Assistant Director Christopher is in town, and it’s all gone so wrong, so quickly. 

They’d had to take Rufus on scene. He was the only one with expertise that could help them hack into the servers and disarm the nuclear missile headed for Los Angeles - and somehow, they’d been ambushed. Wyatt’s fighting three guys at once, Jess is covering Rufus’ back while he works, and Lucy is on the opposite rooftop picking off stragglers. 

The Challenger is faster than it seems, and Flynn and Jiya screech into the parking lot. Half of Jiya’s torso is already hanging out of the passenger window, her Glock in her hands ready, and she’s killed three of the bastards before they could even pull the trigger.

It’s times like this that Flynn remembered just how terrifying Jiya is, and why they’d put her in charge of the flock of nerds in Ops. 

They run up the back stairwell, taking out the two guys that are stationed there, and Jess appears just behind one of the doorways. Her gun’s in one hand and her other is holding a cut on her arm shut. They all exchange nods, and proceed to carve a path through to the server room. 

And then they enter. 

A heart-wrenching sob works it’s way out of Jiya’s throat, and she almost flies over to where Wyatt is crouched over Rufus, applying pressure to his gunshot wound. Flynn’s own throat dries immediately; colour fades, his field of vision narrowing to where blood is pouring out of Rufus’ chest.

_ “Status?”  _ Lucy’s voice on the comms barely filters through the haze that’s taken over him. 

Nobody answers for a few very long seconds. 

_ “I need a status report, everyone!”  _ Assistant Director Christopher orders. They can hear the faint sounds of Lucy disassembling her rifle, and her swearing in every language she knows. 

“Rufus is down.” Wyatt’s voice is rough, but his hands are holding steady. Then, the world seems to speed up again, colour snapping back, and oh. That’s a lot of blood. 

“Gunshot wound to the lower right chest area, Logan is applying pressure, we need an ambulance. Now!” Flynn almost yells.

_ “What?”  _ Lucy sounds distraught. Jess seems to have frozen, too. 

“Jess? Jess, go meet the paramedics. I can't move him.” Wyatt wouldn’t normally ever presume to order Jess around, but she nods in response, almost sprinting out of the room.

Flynn’s moving before he’s even had the chance to process what is going on. He’s suddenly got his arms around Jiya as she sinks to the floor, not holding her back but just holding her, and he's soothing her in every language he knows while Lucy’s yelling down the comms to Ops. 

It turns out that Jiya sobs with her whole body. 

\--

Wyatt’s always hated hospitals. They remind him too much of his own trauma, of his family, of the first time he’d met a corrupt cop, you name it. There’s bad shit there.

And now, as the medics are wheeling Rufus straight into surgery, and Lucy and Jess are all but dragging a wrecked Jiya away to get her changed and fed, all he can do is watch. 

Watch and wait. 

Four hours of surgery minimum, the doctors are saying amidst medical mumbo-jumbo, and he can barely breathe. He still has Rufus’ blood on his hands. 

_ Or is it Dave’s blood? Or his mom’s? Or Jess or Flynn or Lucy or Jiya or - _

“Wyatt.”

When did he sit down?

“Wyatt, look at me.” 

That’s an order. He can do that. 

Flynn’s face swims into view. He’s tired, pale, and looks just as distraught as Wyatt feels. “I’m going to take you home, get you some food, and then you’re going to sleep. Okay?”

Wyatt nods, wooden. He doesn’t normally drop this hard this fast, but he’s trusting that Flynn knows what he needs. The car ride to his house could have lasted anywhere from five minutes to two weeks, and Wyatt wouldn’t have been able to tell. 

He can only imagine how Jiya must be feeling. 

When he can breathe enough to stand up, Flynn’s ushering him into his little bungalow and sitting him on the couch. Flynn leaves. It could have been thirty seconds or two hours, but either way Flynn returns with a bottle of water, and gently orders him to drink it. 

Wyatt comes back to himself in small sips, in the pressure of Flynn’s hand rubbing his back and stroking his hair. He takes the last sip of water, and sets it down on the table under his own power, and Flynn lets out a pleased hum that rumbles through his chest. It’s nice, Wyatt decides.

“Hey there.” Flynn’s hand slows it’s rubbing for a moment, and Wyatt can feel himself frown. “I’m just going to get your first-aid kit. Do you want to stay here or come with me?”

Wyatt can’t bring himself to speak yet, but he tightens his grip on Flynn’s arm. He feels Flynn nod, and then his arm is being moved so it’s across Flynn’s shoulder, and they’re walking into his kitchen. He gets set down onto one of the kitchen chairs, the ghost of a kiss is pressed to the top of his head, and Flynn crosses the room to the top left cupboard.

_ It’s like he lives here,  _ Wyatt thinks with a start. It shocks him back to reality a little, and he glances down at his hands again. 

“Hey, hey, no, look at me.” Flynn’s hand comes up to gently cup Wyatt’s chin, and his face is being tilted back up. Through his tears, his eyes meet Flynn’s, and they’re both crying. They surge forward, Wyatt nearly falling off his chair as they hug, and it’s too tight too much but it’s also exactly what they both need.

It’s a full half hour before they’ve both stopped crying enough to pull away, and when they do, it almost makes them start up again. Wyatt stands, shaking, and crosses over to the sink. Flynn lets him go. He evidently needs a moment to collect himself, and Wyatt… doesn’t know that to do. He starts the tap, the movements almost methodical, and the water that comes away is red - he can’t tell if it’s his blood or Rufus’, but as his movements turn frantic, he opens some barely scabbed over cuts and bruises. He can’t see if the water is clear or not. His eyes are blurry again. Hands grab him - but they’re gentle, so gentle, and Wyatt almost starts crying again.

“Wyatt.” Flynn’s voice is barely working. He clears his throat and tries again. “Wyatt, stop.”

He stops. 

“Wyatt, I need you to get that towel and a bowl of water, and I need you to sit here. Can you do that for me?”

He nods. He gets the things. He sits. Flynn gets the cloth, dips it into the bowl of water, and starts gently working at the cuts. They barely sting. Wyatt knows this tactic - processing trauma by keeping busy, by giving clear, simple instructions. It’s what Noah taught them after Sidorov. 

It’s quiet for a few moments, save Wyatt’s heavy breathing and the sound of Flynn wringing out the cloth into the bowl. 

“What are you thinking?” Even Flynn’s voice is gentle. 

Wyatt can barely breathe, but he answers anyway. “I… It shoulda been me.”

Flynn doesn’t look remotely surprised, and Wyatt realises that Flynn’s been there. He lets the silence remain for a few minutes as he prepares a needle and stitches to patch up a particularly nasty cut on Wyatt’s bicep. In truth, Wyatt hadn’t even noticed it. Too busy keeping Rufus alive. 

He tries again. “I… how Jiya feels. How you felt, with…” The words stick in his throat. “I don’t think I could survive that.” 

“Me neither.” Flynn’s tone is almost nonchalant. Wyatt almost envies his ability to pretend everything’s fine. 

“Yeah?” Wyatt grimaces as the first stitch goes in. 

“Yeah.” Flynn confirms. “I always said that when I fall in love, I’d never let anything hurt them. Sometimes that’s a promise you can’t fulfil.”

Wyatt tries to think, but his mind just keeps on going back to Rufus. “I tried to stop the bleeding. There was just… so much. And Jiya, she was. Beggin’. Anybody, everybody, nobody. To save him. You, me… she threatened the paramedics, she cussed out Jess and Lucy and Mason… oh my god, Mason, what about Mason, they’re like father and son -.”

“Mason knew. He was on comms the whole time. We kept him updated.” Flynn’s finished on his bicep now, moving on to his hands, and he grips them tight. “He knows, Wyatt, it’s okay.”

Wyatt feels his whole body relax again. Flynn’s patching up his hands, applying burn cream and band-aids and then he’s cupping Wyatt’s face. 

_ He’s just checking you for more injuries.  _ Wyatt’s brain supplies him. He knows it’s a lie.

Flynn applies a small stitch to a cut on his eyebrow, and then rests his hand there for a moment. Wyatt can’t read Flynn’s expression when they’re this close, but his face does something when Wyatt leans into the touch. The hand moves, carding through his hair and massaging the back of Wyatt skull. He knows that Flynn’s just checking for lumps, trying to gauge if anything else is hurt. But he still reaches up, and presses a kiss to Flynn’s cheek, rests his forehead against Flynn’s jaw. 

He wants to live in this moment forever. 

And then Flynn’s phone beeps, and Wyatt jumps, and it’s gone. 

“Assistant Director.” Flynn answers the call. More garbled speech from the other end, and a small smile pulls at the corners of Flynn’s mouth. The call ends, and Flynn’s entire body sags slightly. “He’s in the ICU, but he’s going to be okay. They’re keeping him sedated, we’ll see him in the morning.” 

Flynn’s face has twisted again, but it’s a good twist, and Wyatt’s chest feels lighter. They hug again, and it feels like coming home. 

He wakes up on the couch, hours later, with his face buried in Flynn’s shoulder and Flynn’s arm around him. The hand resting on his waist is tracing patterns, and it doesn’t stop when Wyatt shifts. 

It moves with him. 

\--

Assistant Director Denise Christopher is a terrifying woman. 

Sure, she may be petite, but she’s whip smart, highly trained, and shockingly muscular. And Flynn himself has seen what she can do with two knives and a shotgun. It scares him shitless.

Currently, she’s the only one of the team here, but she’s still taking charge whilst trying to make five phone calls at once. Flynn doesn’t envy her. 

They walk into the ward hand in hand - they’re both too tired to care - and it’s the first thing she sees. 

“Well done, gentlemen.” She pats them both on the shoulder, one of her rare maternal smiles crossing her face, and then she turns and walks into Rufus’ room. Their eyes meet. 

“What?” Underneath his exhaustion, Wyatt looks bewildered. 

Flynn smiles, thin and wan. “C’mon. Let’s go see Ru.”

He’s attached to five different types of machine, but they say he’ll live. 

They both sleep better that night.

**2014: Rufus**

There was only one reason that Flynn was late again.

The Christmas coffee run.

It basically meant that everyone but Wyatt and Jess ordered a gingerbread latte, but it was still fun nonetheless. Jess always had a black coffee, three sugars, no cream, no exceptions, but Wyatt would be forced into letting Flynn dictate his order.

This time? Black forest mocha. 

Wyatt grinned a little, and couldn’t help blushing at how Flynn preened when he thanked him. 

“Ho ho ho!” Rufus bounded down the stairs, bells jingling, and everyone stared.

“What the  _ fuck  _ are you wearing?”

“Wyatt!” Lucy scolded him.

“What! I’m not allowed to swear, but Rufus is allowed to go around looking like that?”

“Oh, come on, he’s cute! You’re gonna break his little elven heart!”

“Jiya, you are  _ so  _ not helping.” Wyatt gave her a Look, but she just smiled innocently, and took a huge gulp of her latte.

“It’s an elf costume, Wyatt, not a loincloth.”

Wyatt groaned, scrunching his eyes shut. He could hear Lucy and Jess sniggering behind them. “Please stop saying things that I can’t unsee, Garcia, I’m begging you.”

“Well-” Jiya attempted. 

“If you make one more joke, I’m changing your shampoo with bleach.”

“Don’t make threats you can’t follow up on, Wyatt.” She grinned at them, and walked - no, she  _ sauntered  _ over to Rufus, kissed him smack on the mouth, and led him up the stairs. “Come on, Krampus! We have a case!”

\--

“So what are you bringing to the party?” Wyatt leaned back, taking another swig of his coffee. 

“Why does that sound like such an ominous question?” Lucy turned to squint at him, still holding up the binoculars.

“Because it’s your cooking, and I’m pretty sure potatoes shouldn’t look like that.” Wyatt yelped as Lucy smacked his arm. “What? You know it’s true.”

She sighed, and busied herself with the binoculars. “Mason put me on dessert.”

“Oh, nice. So that means that Amy’s cooking it, right?” 

Lucy turned to glare at him.

“You know I say this with love, but-”

“Don’t. Not if you want to live.”

Wyatt grinned, and took another drink. “Y’know, Amy and Jess get along pretty well.”

Lucy blinked as if she was in slow motion. “Oh my god, Wyatt.”

“What, you’ve only just seen it?”

“No, they’ve been dating for three years...” Lucy trailed off, looking into the binoculars again.

_ “What?!”  _

She slapped his arm, throwing the binoculars somewhere near her feet. She pointed to the door they were watching. “Never mind _ that,  _ you hypocrite - look who’s just come out of Baker’s apartment.”

He dropped his coffee in his mad scramble out of the car. 

He’d said it before, but he’ll say it again…  _ fuck stakeouts.  _

\--

Ah, the office Christmas party. The only time where you can get drunk  _ and  _ claim expenses for it. 

Or so he’d been told - by a very drunk Lucy, who’d draped herself across his lap and demanded that he stroked her hair. Donnie from Accounting and Norah from Admin chuckled at their antics, but Wyatt didn’t miss their shared look of mild alarm.

“Hey, Luce, is that Noah?” He muttered, grinning as she shot up and ran over to where Noah and Rufus were chatting about… something. Honestly? Wyatt wasn’t the best lip-reader, so they were either talking about elephants or proposals. 

Lip-reading was actually one of Jess and Lucy’s many skills. Unfortunately, after Jess had delivered the lethally strong batch of eggnog, she’d only lasted about ten minutes until she’d snuck off into the burn room to FaceTime Amy. He was tempted to pull his phone out just to tell her that she was a traitor, but he was beginning to understand just why people stood and watched car wrecks. 

Lucy was hanging off Noah and Rufus, who both looked very amused by the whole situation. Jiya and Denise were playing a very aggressive game of cards on Mason’s desk while half the office looked on in both terror and awe, and Mason was busy waxing poetic to a bunch of lab techs. Probably about jazz music or Shakespeare or whatever.

“Hey, Wyatt!” After about twenty minutes, Lucy sauntered back over, humming some old festive song or whatever, and plopped herself back onto his lap. Wyatt couldn’t help but chuckle, and Donnie from Accounting and Norah from Admin chose that moment to get refills.

“You’ve uh, you’ve got confetti or tinsel or something in your hair, hang…”

_ Oh, shit.  _

Every single thought in his body ground to a screeching halt, because for some reason, his very own Garcia Flynn - dressed up in a burgundy turtleneck and black jeans - had just put his glasses on. He dropped his empty glass of eggnog.

Lucy snickered. “Yeah, look, he looks hot, right?”

Wyatt’s throat was dry, his voice hoarse. “Yeah.”

She laughed, and patted his shoulder. “Meet him outside OPS in five. I’ll get him there.”

“Thanks, Luce.”

\--

“Here, Wyatt. Lucy said you dropped yours earlier.” 

“Thanks, Garcia.”

“‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, y’all… are making out. This is a workplace, guys, c’mon.”

“You say that like you and Jiya aren’t doing the exact same thing at every possible opportunity.”

“You’re on thin fucking ice, Flynn.”

**Bonus: December 2018**

Wyatt woke up slowly and leisurely; a rarity, in their profession. 

His face was mashed into the pillow, Flynn’s arm a comforting weight on his waist. Golden Los Angeles sunlight streamed through the cracks in the blinds, and the house was quiet except for Flynn’s gentle humming in his ear. He stirred, checking his muscles for their customary aches and pains. The last case hadn’t been kind to any of them.

Flynn must have felt him stir, because the hand started to trace gentle patterns up towards his shoulder, and then even further, upwards to stroke through his hair. “Good morning,  _ Schnecke. _ ”

He turned over, so he could look at Flynn, and their gazes met. He couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his face.  _ “Dobro jutro.” _

Wyatt felt Flynn’s chest rumble with a low, warm laugh, and properly grinned. 

“You’re getting better at that.”

“Well, you have to when you’ve spent the last week pretending to be married to a Croatian assassin so that you can bust the angriest redhead in existence.” Wyatt laughed, and Flynn’s eyes grew soft, almost hesitant. “What? What’s up?”

“It’s nothing.”

Wyatt sat up. “Is everything okay?”

Flynn’s eyes grew even softer.  _ Adoration,  _ Wyatt’s brain supplied him, and his own smile softened, too. 

Flynn swallowed then, his words slow, halting, and Wyatt’s stomach dropped out. “Wyatt, I… the last time I was married, the last time I had a family, I couldn’t protect them. I had no  _ idea  _ about the beast I’d woken, and I can’t get them back. But you, you and the others. You’ve given me a family again. And I think that. Well. If you wanted, that is. If you wanted to. Get married, we could… do that.”

“Garcia Flynn, are you  _ proposing  _ to me? Before coffee?”

“...Yes?”

Wyatt thought for a moment. “Are you sure?”

“No, Wyatt, I’m asking you to spend the rest of your life with me on a whim.”

“Well, Garcia…” Wyatt didn’t finish, because Flynn leaned over and they kissed, long and languid, and they were both smiling into it and it was messy and his breath tasted like nightmare fuel but it was  _ perfect.  _

They pulled apart - centuries or seconds later, they couldn’t tell - and Wyatt grinned, his stomach flipping. “Well, get me a ring first, babe.”


End file.
